


The Secret to a Happy Life

by nagi_schwarz



Series: Juris Imprudence [4]
Category: Stargate Atlantis, Stargate SG-1
Genre: Crossover, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-19
Updated: 2016-03-19
Packaged: 2018-05-27 17:02:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6292603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nagi_schwarz/pseuds/nagi_schwarz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the comment_fic prompt: Stargate Atlantis, Rodney McKay +/Any, "One of the secrets of a happy life is continuous small treats." (Iris Murdoch). Rodney's first week at Woolsey O'Neill & Weir.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Secret to a Happy Life

Woolsey O'Neill & Weir (WOW to pretty much everyone who wasn't a lawyer) had an excellent reputation around town, and Rodney wasn't surprised when Elizabeth Weir contacted him herself to invite him to apply for an opening in their intellectual property division. After some more in-depth research into the firm, Rodney learned two things: it was staffed mostly by veterans, and Samantha Carter was one of them. That time he'd called her a dumb blonde was suddenly looking like a much bigger mistake, because she could have broken him in half with her bare hands, and in the end she'd been right. She was a brilliant physicist and an equally brilliant lawyer, so Rodney was glad to know that, if he accepted a position there, he would be in good company.  
  
The office itself was difficult to find because it was in the last place Rodney expected a law office to be, but once he got inside, he was surprised at how open a place it was. There was a well-appointed waiting area for clients, separated from the junior staff work space by a reception desk and some tasteful privacy screens, and along the edges of the working bullpen were the attorney offices. Judging by the names over the doors, the junior associates shared their offices, while the senior associates and partners had their own. Rodney was sure he was being considered for one of the senior positions.  
  
He was indeed being considered for one of the senior positions. He was pretty sure he'd made a good impression on Weir and Woolsey, but there had been a certain biting sarcasm in O'Neill's tone that made him wary. But a week after Rodney's interview, he found himself being shown to his new office by a dark-haired, blue-eyed, wholesomely handsome man who'd introduced himself as Lorne. Rodney couldn't tell if it was a first name or a last name, but he suspected Lorne, like so many of the staff, was former military, and he was willing to bet it was a last name.  
  
"Zelenka will be your paralegal," Lorne said, "but he's out of town on a research assignment at the moment, so I'm available to assist you while my primary attorney is also out of town."  
  
Rodney placed his box of personal effects (lucky stapler, photo of Jeannie and her family, photo of his cat Oppenheimer) on the heavy wooden desk. "Thank you. Who is your primary attorney?"  
  
"John Sheppard," Lorne said.  
  
Rodney remembered the name from the firm's website. The guy did taxes. He probably felt as out of place among the ex-soldiers and Rodney already did.  
  
"Good to know. I'll just settle in, then."  
  
"My extension is 273 if you need me." And then Lorne was gone, and Rodney was settling into his new space.  
  
Every half hour, like clockwork, Lorne would stop by, check on him, see if he needed anything. Rodney figured he was asking for too much from a paralegal when he said hopefully, "Coffee?" But three minutes later, Lorne returned with a mug of coffee, exactly the way Rodney liked it.  
  
It wasn't until three hours later, when Lorne presented him with a citrus-free pastry, that Rodney wondered how Lorne knew how he liked his coffee.  
  
By the time Rodney's third day rolled around, he didn't even have to ask for the small treats. They just appeared on an empty corner of his desk right when his stomach was rumbling for them. The fact that Rodney was hypoglycemic was somewhere in one of his files, but he didn't think a paralegal from a different division would have access to that. Would he?  
  
But the treats kept coming, and Rodney's regular conferences with Sam while she transitioned her patent drafting cases to him (she was keeping the litigation ones, which was fine with him; he was no litigator) were going well, and all in all, joining WOW had been a good decision.  
  
Rodney was happy with his life.  
  
Until Zelenka returned, bearing a prototype of a new alloy a client wanted to patent ( _naquadria_ was a stupid name), and left it on the break room table while he prepped a space for it in the fridge and Sam got her hands on it and Rodney panicked, because he'd read about it, had seen the stability flaws in it, and if she thought it was naquadah instead something could go catastrophically wrong, and –

Having a screaming fight with a colleague really wasn't a great way to begin one's second week at one's dream job. And then a giant of a man with dreadlocks and trendy jeans and a sports coat stepped in and forcefully separated them, and Rodney deflated a little. That was so unprofessional. He'd have to find a way to apologize. He'd –  
  
Hello, handsome. Handsome's name was John Sheppard. Lorne's primary attorney, John Sheppard. And not at all the nerdy bespectacled little mathematician Rodney had imagined. (Turned out John Sheppard was ex-military too, but one would never have known by the way he wore his hair, unlike Cameron Mitchell and Samantha Carter and Lorne.)  
  
Rodney apologized to Sam the next day in the most dignified manner he could muster and then retreated to his office. He resisted the urge to close and lock the door and tell Zelenka to hold all his calls, because he was new, and he was supposed to be trying hard.  
  
And then his stomach rumbled and he realized – John was back now. So was Zelenka. Lorne wouldn't be bringing him treats anymore.  
  
A plate with a citrus-free pastry appeared at his elbow.  
  
Rodney lifted his head, ready with a polite, grateful smile for Lorne, who would probably be the only other person besides Zelenka who'd ever talk to him again, but it was John standing there.  
  
"I heard you apologized to Sam."  
  
"I tried."  
  
"From one guy to another, she can kick my ass, and I did some para-rescue training back in the day," John said. "You were right. She didn't know it wasn't regular naquadah. But there was probably a better way to handle it."  
  
"I know, I know, I just –"  
  
"Had a nasty run-in with naquadria one time?"  
  
"Ye – how did you know that?"  
  
"Lorne," John said.  
  
"Lorne?"  
  
"The guy knows everything, whether it's in my division or not. You want to stay on his good side. Although, I don't think he knows there's an office pool on whether or not he's secretly a robot. You want in?"  
  
"If I say yes, will I be cut off from these delicious non-poisonous pastries?"  
  
"No," John said, and Rodney reached into his wallet for a five dollar bill. "Non-poisonous?"  
  
"Non-citrus. I'm deathly allergic to it."  
  
"Good to know. I almost brought you a glass of water with a slice of lemon in it." John accepted the money, folded it into his jacket pocket, and then made a notation in a little notebook he kept in one of his other jacket pockets. "It's only your second week, Rodney. You'll do just fine. Just...stay out of the way if Teyla ever breaks out her bantos rods, Ronon breaks out his wooden sword, or Teal'c recommends any kind of physical exertion. You'll regret it."  
  
The way John filled out his suit, Rodney doubted he regretted much physical anything. "Thanks for the advice."  
  
"Welcome," Rodney said. John waved and stepped out.  
  
But he returned a couple of hours later with a glass of water, which he proudly showed off as lemon-free.  
  
And he kept returning with snacks. He wasn't as regular or as subtle as Lorne, but he was always there, and Rodney thought, even if he got into a fist-fight with Teal'c the giant investigator, he'd still consider his life a happy one.


End file.
